Ragnar's hand tightened reflexively around the envelope, the parchment crinkling softly between his fingers.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Circe's reflection stared back at him in the mirror, wide eyes, parted lips, as her dark hair tumbled loose down her shift that was pushed down to bare the smooth slopes of her shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts.
He had touched this body only through a layer of clothing, but had never truly seen it. Not like this.
Heat rushed through him so quickly it felt almost like a blow. He knew he should look away, avert his gaze like a gentleman. Perhaps even apologize and retreat but his muscles refused to obey. He remained where he was, rooted to the threshold, pinned there by the sight of her.
Circe heard the door, her head whipping toward the sound. She was clearly prepared to see a maid.
Her eyes landed on him instead.
